Dudley Demented
by mayoroftuesday
Summary: Trapped in the smallest bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive is a disturbed young boy with a fantastic story to tell. But Dudley's fantasy might be more dangerous than it seems.


DUDLEY DEMENTED  
by: MayorOfTuesday 2018-06-05

* * *

Petunia slammed the door closed and locked it with an old-fashioned skeleton key. She closed her eyes, trying to mentally block out the sounds coming from inside the room.

Vernon Dursley's footsteps thundered up the steps, but Petunia didn't hear them. She finally opened her eyes with a jump as Vernon gently laid his hand on hers, which were still clutching tight to the doorknob.

"It's all right Petunia. Here, let go. It's... well, this is for Dudley's own good!" He looked down at his wife with a mixture of exasperation and pity.

Inside there were shouts and bangs, and the sound of a lamp breakng.

Petunia released the key but didn't turn around to look at her husband. Her shoulders slumped downward as she continued staring at the bedroom door.

"He's not Dudley today, remember? It's 'Harry'," she said in a defeated voice.

* * *

Five months prior, on September 1st, they had first met 'cousin Harry'. Petunia found Dudley in the yard, seemingly having an argument with himself.

"I'm gonna tell everyone you go to that OTHER school!"

"You shut up!"

"No you shut up! Why you gotta go there anyway? You too stupid for regular school? Is that why your mommy didn't want you, huh?"

"I'm warning you!"

Mrs. Dursley cleared her throat timidly. "Dudley..." she called out. It wasn't as if this was the first time they caught him talking to himself. But this was the first time she had noticed a second "person" in the conversation.

"Mo-om!" he whined, "tell Harry why he can't go to regular school with me. It's cuz he's too stupid isn't it!"

Petunia stared, nonplussed.

Dudley's eyes, meanwhile, looked past her towards the house. "Nevermind, he ran off to his room."

"Coward!" he shouted to no one in particular.

"Dudley, dear... the bus to St. Brutus' will be here soon. Have you packed?"

Dudley smiled wickedly. "I'll go tell Harry it's time for him to go!"

He ran off towards the house, leaving Petunia stunned in the garden.

* * *

The next few weeks were rough, even by the Dursley's standards. They had to endure several calls from the principal of St. Brutus' School, a meeting with the school's psychologist (who Vernon Dursley would only refer to as "that quack of a shrink"), and a trip to the mall to replace destroyed uniforms and school supplies. They had hoped this new school would be able to handle him, but Dudley's unsettling behavior seemed to getting worse rather than better.

Sometimes he was laughing at his poor, stupid cousin Harry, who had to go to St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, while Dudley attended the regular public school. He told them about his friends. He was their leader, so he said. They called him "Big D". But then sometimes he was at St. Brutus', screaming about how unfair it was that Harry got to go to public school. He'd been set up, he would say. Those things the teachers said about him were all lies; it was all Harry's fault! And still other times, he was Harry, telling them how stupid his cousin Dudley was, and how Dudley would bully him. Even more worrying, as time went on it seemed that he was becoming 'Harry' more often than he was 'Dudley'.

During his week home for the spring holidays, Petunia again found Dudley in the back yard, fighting with Harry.

"I know all about it! That St. Brutus' is just a cover. I know you go to that FREAK school!"

"Oh yeah, well then you better keep quiet if you know what's good for you. You know what I can do!"

"No! You - you can't! You better not! I'll tell mom!" and Petunia was amazed to hear actual fear in her son's voice.

"Dudley, come inside!" she called.

He ran to the door, glancing back over his shoulder furtively. "Mom, look! He's doing it again!"

"WHO was doing WHAT sweetie?" she asked, trying to sound calm, but with an edge of exchaustion in her voice.

"Harry! He's doing you-know-what again! He's doing..." and then in the smallest whisper, "...magic!"

"Magic? What are you talking about Dudders?"

"Tell him he's not allowed! Send him to his room!" he shouted angrily.

"OK, alright sweetie, I'll take care of it, just - just go inside."

Dudley ran inside, looking triumphant. Petunia began to cry.

* * *

"You can't coddle the boy Petunia!" roared Vernon Dursley. "This madness about Harold or whatever his name is, doing magic on our front lawn! It's preposterous. What will the neighbors think if they hear him?"

"It's 'Harry', dear, and I don't know how to make him stop. You try talking some sense into him and see how far it gets you.

"Fine. It's time someone put a stop to this nonsense.

Mr. Dursley stumped heavily upstairs and banged on the door. "Dudley you open this door right now!"

"He's not here," came his son's voice, but it was oddly softer than normal.  
"It's just me."

"Stop playing! Open this door."

"Alohamora," he heard Dudley say. The lock turned. As Vernon pushed it open he saw his son running from the door back to the bed, as if pretending he hadn't moved.

"What was that you said? Studying your French homework?" asked Vernon.

Dudley rolled his eyes. "It's just a simple unlocking spell. Jeez, you are such a muggle."

"I... excuse me? What did you call me? Dudley..."

"I told you he's not here! I'm Harry! Maybe you need to get your eyes checked Uncle Vernon."

"Uncle! I... Harry? You..." Vernon sputtered, trying to form a coherant response to what he was hearing.

"Do you need something? I need to study for school." Vernon saw now that Dudley had picked up a short stick from the back yard. He began twirling it in complicated patterns and muttering made-up words.

When Vernon came back into the kitchen, his face looked like someone failing to take a math test.

"So, how'd it go?" asked Petunia.

* * *

Things had finally reached a breaking point earlier that day. When Dudley - or was it Harry - went to go play outside, Vernon snuck up to his bedroom to look around. He had had to have a new key made since Dudley had taken to locking it all the time. He pushed open the door and grunted in disgust. There were clothes and half-eaten plates of food everywhere. But the most striking discovery was the papers: pages and pages of torn-out notebook paper littered the floor, were tacked to the wall, filled boxes and drawers. Some were drawings of a young boy on a broomstick, or of owls flying around a castle, or of wizards in pointed hats waving wands. Some seemed to be journal entries. One read:

Oct 4: I'm so behind in my potions homework, and I  
haven't had any time to study charms and transiguration.

Underneath that was another:

Dec 12 - I'm worried I'll be expelled from Hogwarts.  
Ron keeps telling me at least I'm famous, I'll be set for life,  
but I love it here, I don't want to leave.

As he continued reading a strange sense of disorientation took hold. They told the life of a boy named Harry Potter, Dudley's cousin. Apparently he was a magician, who secretly went to a school called Hogwarts to learn how to do magic spells. There were stories of giants and unicorns, defeating evil wizards, flying on broomsticks, of imaginary friends, castles and monsters, magical adventures. There were lists of spells he had "learned" at school, and even what looked like homework assignments for classes like "Potions" and "Divination".

He brought a stack of the pages down to show his wife. They stared open mouthed at them on the kitchen table. They had no idea how far the fantasy had gone.

When Dudley finally came in from outside, he was holding his stick in one hand and had an old bedsheet wrapped around his shoulders like a robe. He froze when he saw the papers on the kitchen table.

"Sweetie, we need to talk," said his mother softly.

"Those are mine! What are you doing?" shouted Dudley.

"Dudley, calm down!" his father said sternly.

"For the last time, my name is HARRY!" he screamed. He waved his stick at them, "If only I was allowed to do magic on you, you'd be sorry, but then I'd be expelled from Hogwarts!" He was breathing heavily, pacing back and forth. "I'd turn you into a frog! I'd blow you up! I'd kill you! I hate you!" He was looking around wildly. "I'm leaving!" he shouted, and ran up the stairs.

"Quick lock him in his room!" Vernon snorted to his wife, and she ran up the stairs after him with the skeleton key.

* * *

"I'm telling you it's for his own good," Vernon repeated. They continued to hear shouts from inside.

"You can't keep me in here!" shouted Dudley. "I'll tell Dumbeldore! He'll take care of you! My friends will rescue me!"

"Oh Vernon, what do we do?" wimpered Petunia.

"It's just for one more night Petunia. The bus to St Brutus' comes back in the morning. They'll be able to sort him out."

In the room they heard more shouting. "Ron! Ron I'm trapped in here, can you open the window?"

"What's that nonsense? Who's Ron?" demanded Mr. Vernon.

Suddenly there was a huge crash, and the sound of broken glass.

"Bloody hell!" shouted Mr. Vernon. He wrenched the key from Petunia's shaking hands and jammed it in the lock.

"Hurry Ron, they're coming!"

Mr. Vernon threw open the door with so much force it left a doorknob-shaped dent in the wall. Suddenly, his voice full of fear, he shouted "Dudley, stop!"

* * *

But Harry did not stop. He stepped out onto the flying Ford Anglia just outside his broken bedroom window. Ron was there in the driver's seat, smiling at him.

"Let's go!" he shouted. Ron jabbed a button and the car bolted upwards into the sky. They were laughing together at the sight of Mr. Dursley's panic-stricken face as they zoomed away. He was free! His friends had rescued him after all, and he was headed back to Hogwarts. The rush of wind against his face made him feel weightless, as if he were freefalling. He laughed, and then stretched out in the back seat of the car.

"Ron I think I'll just take a nap. Wake me when we get to the Burrow. And tell Hedwig... tell her where to meet me."

He smiled and closed his eyes.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Vernon stood together on the lawn, holding each other tight, bloodshot eyes reflecting the flashing red and blue lights. As the policemen lifted their son's limp body onto the stretcher, they could see he was smiling, his right hand still clutching tight to a broken stick./pre


End file.
